Work without Hope
- All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
- The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
- And Winter slumbering in the open air,
- Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
- And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
- Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
-
- Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
- Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
- Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
- For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
- With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
- And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
- Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
- And Hope without an object cannot live.
1825(?). First published in 1828 in the Bijou.
- --oOo-- -